Page 56 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)

Never before had Viv so cursed her own damn words!

Her ideal courtship consisted of quiet time to read or write in companionable silence, she believed she’d said. Something about rarely having the luxury to do nothing.

Drat this incorrigible man! He looked unconscionably attractive lounging in an armchair in the waning sunlight, immersed in a tome by—oh, who cared what he was reading?

She wanted to yank the book from his hands and toss it into the fireplace.

There was probably even a card in her pocket that explicitly gave her the freedom to do so.

That had been his first gift. Seeing her. Understanding her. And providing her with every freedom in his power.

Such as the freedom to glare at him while he pretended to be more interested in a book than being alone in a private parlor with her.

Well, two could play at that game, could they not?

To prove she categorically held no desire or intention of seducing the damnable poet-no-one-knew-was-Sir-Jallow lounging loose-limbed over in the armchair, she stuck her nose in the air and marched over to the bookshelves, intending to make believe she was happily ensconced in a book, just like him.

Her heart skidded.

The bounder had filled the shelves with things she actually wanted to read.

He hadn’t been paying attention only to her. He had noted the titles and the authors of the volumes on her sparse shelf at home, and fleshed out an entire bookcase full of related works.

Jacob—or someone very knowledgeable on the subject—had even deduced key themes and motifs Viv enjoyed returning to and had filled the second bookcase with new-to-her authors. Volume after volume, begging to be read.

Utterly diabolical.

“Whose books are these?” she asked with suspicion.

“Hmm?” Jacob glanced up from his book, as though he’d forgotten she was in the room.

She scowled at him.

He grinned at her. “Mine. You can borrow as many as you like.”

Viv harrumphed and turned back to the shelves. She didn’t want to borrow a handful of books. She wanted to live right here, in this very room, until every word on every page was etched into her brain.

It took ten minutes to narrow the top contenders down to three. She carried them to the other armchair—she wasn’t tempted by the sofa, either!—and curled her legs beneath her to pretend to read.

Hours disappeared without her noticing.

Suddenly, the novel was over, the picnic between them was half gone, and her hopelessly wrinkled skirt was littered with lime-biscuit crumbs.

She’d read an entire book?

In one sitting?

The faint shimmer behind the diaphanous curtains looked like moonlight. She’d missed the sunset completely. A low fire burned behind the grate. Just enough to warm the edge of chill from the air. It and the candles gave the room a soft, golden-orange glow.

Jacob’s novel was on the tea table beside them. His arms folded loosely over his flat stomach, and his legs stretched out toward the fire. His eyes were closed.

“Jacob,” she whispered, so softly even she could barely hear herself.

His eyes flew open at once. “Shall I light another sconce for you?”

“Do you know when the last time was that I read a whole book in one day?”

He shook his head. “Tell me.”

“I can’t. It’s never happened before. This was a first.”

He smiled. “You can read another if you like.”

“I actually don’t think I want to,” she said, surprising herself. “I want to give that book a chance to live inside my head for a little while before I replace those characters with someone else.”

“Shall I ring for more biscuits?”

“I’m stuffed.”

“More lemonade?”

“No, thank you.”

“More basil?”

She snickered. “What are you going to do with all these plants?”

He shrugged. “The books are mine. The basil’s yours.”

Viv hauled herself out of the chair, wincing at her stiff muscles. She crossed to the closest plant and popped one of the aromatic leaves into her mouth.

Delicious. Just as she knew it would be.

She turned back to Jacob. He was watching her, his eyes sensual and heavy-lidded.

“What now?”

He raised his brows. “I don’t know. We reached the end of the advice letter. You tell me what happens next.”

“I suppose,” she said slowly, “it wouldn’t be too dreadful if you were to kiss me.”

His eyes glittered. “All right. I’d like that.”

But he didn’t move.

She crossed her arms. “Well?”

“Tell me what you desire.” His dark brown eyes tracked her. “Do you want me to pounce upon you like a hawk snatching up a dormouse? Or would you rather be the huntress, and me the prey?”

Viv blinked and lowered her arms to her sides. She was no stranger to amorous embraces but had always been the one pursued—whether she wished to be or not. Turning the tables, however voluntarily, held the thrill of the forbidden.

Of feminine power, rather than submission.

She took a tentative step closer. “I can tell you to do anything I wish?”

“You can try,” he answered. “I am not a lapdog, panting to your every command.”

“ Yet .” She hiked up her skirts enough to place her knees on either side of his hips. “Let us not forget, I trained a wild badger.”

“That’s true.” He skimmed his hands up her thighs to the curve of her hips, then raised his face toward hers. “Are you going to train me, too?”

“No.” She lowered her mouth until their noses nearly brushed. “I like you a little wild.”

He hauled her hips closer to his and crushed his mouth to hers.

She sank against him, her sex rubbing against his through their clothes as their mouths locked together in kiss after kiss.

Had she thought her body was stiff after so much reading in one position? Her muscles felt liquid now, her bones quick as mercury. She poured herself over Jacob, swirling into him like melting chocolate, until all she could taste or feel was their bodies mixed together.

To think that her pride had almost deprived her of the warmth of this man’s embrace! Not just in this moment, but all the times this past month when she’d worked or laughed or plotted by his side.

Most of his animals accepted her as one of their own. Even the Highland tiger gave up trying to maul her on sight. She had her own seat not just here on Jacob’s lap, but also in the dining room, and the sitting room, and the Planning Parlor.

Viv had once believed that the only way she could make a difference was by sharing her words with the public at large.

But over the past month, she’d contributed to multiple Wynchester missions and planning sessions.

Helping England become a better place on a case-by-case basis.

No single escapade might have changed the world, but she’d reunited families and salvaged homes and returned lost or stolen goods and prevented evictions and improved working conditions. One by one.

Not that her precious words were going unspoken. Thanks to Jacob, her play on suffrage would be performed the week after Marjorie and Adrian’s fête in Vauxhall Gardens.

Perhaps no one would attend Viv’s theater debut. And perhaps the performance would launch a political uprising capable of spurring England toward greater equality. She’d find out in a fortnight.

Her words were already being performed on an even more important stage.

She and Chloe and the Duke of Faircliffe had worked out several moving speeches on the topics of abolition and suffrage and autonomy.

Not just prepared arguments for the duke in the House of Lords, but for his ally Olivebury in the House of Commons as well.

So much good was underway, it made her dizzy.

Tonight, Viv fully intended to debauch the stuffing out of the handsome poet whose warm hands had slipped beneath her skirts to cup the bare skin of her derrière.

Without breaking the kiss, she loosened Jacob’s cravat and tossed the fabric over her shoulder.

“That might have landed too near the fire,” he murmured against her lips. “We’re surrounded by books. Paper makes excellent kindling. We could be engulfed in flames at any moment.”

She bit his lower lip. “Do you want me to stop and tidy up?”

“Let it burn.” He captured her mouth in another kiss.

She unbuttoned his coat and pushed it from his shoulders. It slid from the chair and fell to the floor. Next thing to lose was his waistcoat. A gorgeous piece of jade-green silk. It went over her shoulder in the general direction of the cravat. Or the fire.

Now the only clothing covering his torso was the thin white cambric of his shirt. She tugged it up from his waistband, revealing his taut stomach muscles inch by inch. Then his powerful chest, and his wide shoulders.

When she reached his neck, she let the shirt hang off the top of his head, obstructing his vision.

“Vivian,” he said repressively, the stern words muffled by a layer of linen.

She grinned to herself and lowered her mouth to his chest, flicking her tongue against one of his nipples.

He stiffened, then tightened his hold on her arse, rubbing her against him as she licked and suckled.

When at last she whipped the shirt from his head and over her shoulder, he rewarded her with a kiss—and punished her by floating his fingertips over the dampness between her legs, toying and teasing without ever giving her the satisfaction of penetration.

She wiggled against his hands, trying to force him to give her what she wanted. He kissed her lazily as her pulse rocketed out of control. Her muscles trembled with frustrated desire. She untwined her hands from his neck to lower her own bodice, spilling her bosom forth into his face.

He responded by taking a breast into his mouth, and at last rewarding her with the full pleasure of his fingers. She gasped and arched her back, riding his hand until she was so close to ecstasy she could taste it.

She’d come all over his hand another day. Right now, she wanted to feel his cock inside her.

Barely able to think, much less breathe fluidly, she fumbled with the fall of his breeches until enough buttons broke free that his member popped up to greet her.

She arranged herself atop him without delay, easing down ever so slowly.

He teased her with his hand between her legs and his mouth on her nipple.

Once joined, she imagined she was ravishing him the way she’d wanted to when he’d first shown up at her doorstep to give her a bareback ride on his stallion. Now this was the sort of ride she’d been after.

The pressure built within her until she was no longer in control of her own body. She gave everything over to him. Her breasts, her blood, her breath. Waves of pleasure shot through her as her muscles clenched around his member again and again.

The moment she finally sucked in a restorative breath, he lifted her from his hips, covering his cock with the folds of her skirt and bucking wildly.

When they were both still, she touched her forehead to his. “Did you just smear your seed inside my underdress?”

“I would’ve used my cravat, but you tossed it in a fire,” he pointed out. “Then you plucked the buttons from my breeches. I’ll have to walk up to my room with my shirt tied about my waist. It won’t be suspicious at all.”

“They would’ve caught on anyway at the wet stain on my skirt,” she informed him. “Besides, who needs a cravat? Tommy doesn’t usually wear one.”

“My sister is a girl. Sometimes.”

“Is she? I’d take her sartorial sense over Brummell’s, any day.”

“Does this mean you’re going to burn all of my cravats?”

“Does that mean I’m allowed to enter your bedchamber?”

“I’ll carry you there right now if you want.”

“Your trousers would fall around your ankles. You’re missing a few buttons.”

“I’ll go nude. You ought to do the same. Let’s get you out of that stained dress and toss the whole thing into the fire.”

“Wait a minute… I begin to suspect this ploy is not designed to get me up to your bedchamber after all. Once we’re both naked, we’ll be stuck in this private room with its overabundance of basil and conspicuously accommodating sofa.”

“Oh, is there a sofa behind me? I’d completely forgotten. Show it to me. Perhaps I’ll lie down for a nap.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You should lie down with me.” His dark gaze seared her. “Do you know what would be even better than reading a book in one sitting?”

“Tell me.”

“Reading a book in one sitting whilst I kneel before you to pleasure you.”

Her mouth went dry. “Do you think I could concentrate on a single word?”

“Let’s try it and find out,” he suggested sweetly.

She narrowed her eyes. “You think I’ll last about five minutes before I climb on top of your cock again.”

He gasped. “That would be a shocking twist. I had you pegged for three minutes at the most.”

“Words, words. How about some action?” She slid from his lap and tugged him to his feet. “Be a gentleman, and help a lady remove her dress.”

He reached for her. “With pleasure.”